Day and Night
by Madame Onyx
Summary: Tweek knew that if Craig found his secret, knew who he REALLY was and who he COULD be, he'd never speak to him again. A story about Tweek's shocking secret. What if Craig found out? Rated M for violence, blood, and later creek.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I am aware I have not updated Stan's Fantasies. But it is coming. Be patient. **

**I've been intrigued in the idea of Tweek having a double life for a while now–shaking train wreck by day, assassin by night. And so, I decided to try it out. Tell me if I should continue, if it sucks, give me some pointers, whatever you feel like doing. **

**P.S. Any locations, names or persons mentioned in the work that is similar to anyone/thing that is or was real is entirely consequential. Or something like that. **

The full moon floating overhead would've been beautiful in South Park, especially at this time of night; the snow would gleam and glimmer, the pine trees would be outlined in silver. But in an alleyway of Las Vegas, it paled in comparison to the thousands of blinding lights and flashes that I could still see behind my eyelids.

I nibbled on my thumbnail absentmindedly while Sam–a.k.a. "Nadia"–ran through the plan one more time while adjusting the earpiece that she had made herself for all three of us. Our operations supervisor, O.S., was back at the motel with his state of the art laptop and customized iPad that wasn't really an iPad.

That was how we worked. Nadia was the face of our work–she met with our various employers, handled the money, invented her crazy shit for our missions. She was with me on the field almost always, and knew everything medical-aid related.

Jazz–(NOT his real name) ran background checks, hacked security systems, track our and our targets' movements and kept the government off our tail. He and Nadia constantly argued, but over all were good friends.

And then there's me.

My only skill is that I can blend seamlessly into the background. That, and I have eight years of boxing and karate under my belt. But being invisible is good in my line of work, whether it's just walking through a crowd or swinging from banister to balcony to stab a prime minister in the neck.

Tonight, we were targeting a mob boss.

"Hey, Spazz. You with us?"

Nadia and Jazz's voices knocked me out of my thoughts and I gave Nadia a relaxed smile. "Yeah. I'm cool."

Tonight Nadia wore a revealing purple dress with a low cut and silver high heels that made her legs look miles long. She had on a blonde wig that reached her shoulders–_strange, she always goes with black–_and had in bright blue contacts and devil red lipstick.

This boss was in every business you could name and then some. Prostitution and drug smuggling were the biggest cuts, so tonight Nadia was going to lure one of his boys out and wring the info out of him. I was to lightly follow behind her and provide back-up if needed.

Nadia check the poison-laced knife hidden in her bodice and secured the .22 with silencer strapped to her thigh, just hidden from view. We didn't like to use guns–the CIA was way too good at tracking down bullets. Nadia used her knives; I went with throwing knives that were smaller than hers and, when needed, my bare hands. However, these were conventional; I've killed probably thirteen people with a spoon, four using a ballpoint pen, ten via strangulation with a computer wire, two by poison (Nadia likes poison) and one bizarre case where I kept a man's head in a toilet until he drowned while my hands were tied behind my back and my face was painted like a cat's.

Don't ask.

Point is, we don't usually use guns, but when out on public streets in freakin' _Vegas_, we find it better to be safe than, well, dead.

"Alright," Nadia yawned, stretching her toned arms. "Let's do this. I have physics homework to do when we get back home."

"_Sweet Jesus," _I grumbled. "I completely spaced mine."

"Don't sweat it, Blondie," she winked as she walked by, ruffling my already chaotic hair, "Ms. Jenson totally loves you. All the teachers do."

I frowned. "Yeah well–"

"_Hey guys?" _An irritated voice sounded over the almost invisible earpieces in our canals, _"Let's talk physics later, _after _Daddy le Blance is dead, okay?" _

"You just say that 'cuz yours is done," I grumbled but motioned for Nadia to get going.

"_Alright, Nadia. Nearest mob member is two blocks south of your position, facing north-northeast, wearing a leather jacket and ripped jeans. Age 22. Walk southward on Meridian and I'll give you his position after you catch his attention." _

"Roger," she whispered and sauntered off down the crowded sidewalk, wolf-whistles and stares from both sexes following her wake.

I rolled my eyes and proceeded to go into 'ordinary teenaged boy' mode as I smoothed the collar on my plaid blazer–old from wear–and walked down the opposite sidewalk in my Nikes. I stopped here and there to gaze into the store windows and listened to Jazz and Nadia over the line.

"_He's spotted you and now following you; turn into the next alley. Spazz, you on her trail?"_

I pulled out my cellphone and flipped it open. "Yeah. Right behind her." I saw her dress sparkle as she turned a dark corner; a shady-looking guy with ratty hair but expensive clothes followed her none too gracefully. He looked behind him; I adverted my gaze naturally as I pretended to check my phone screen.

From my peripheral I could see him follow her into the alley.

Before I closed my phone I saw that I actually did have a text message. While still walking and listening to Nadia's innocent girl voice talk about how she had lost her friends in the crowd and how she needed to know where the nearest phone was, I opened it up and read it.

_Hey Tweek r u free this Saturday? Me and clyde r goin to see that new Megan Fox movie. U in?_

–_Craig_

A short cry made me stuff the phone into my pocket and check around; no-one seemed to have noticed. I slipped into the alley and found the guy on the ground against the filthy brick wall with blood spouting from his nose and one eye swelled shut.

Nadia was holding her knife steady as she positioned the blade at the base of his ear. He whimpered.

"Where is Daddy le Blanc?" She asked in a low, sultry voice.

The guy threw a feeble right punch at her; she blocked it easily and shook her head. "Wrong answer." She lifted her four-inch heel and drove it into his pants and, consequently, into his scrotum.

Nadia slapped a dirty rubber strip from the dumpster next to her over his mouth to muffle the scream. I walked into the light and saw the man's watering eye look at me with some hope. Nadia took off the rubber and he rasped to me, "Please..._hah_...help me...stop this...b-bitch."

I nodded my head at Nadia, who backed off. The guy smiled, showing missing teeth and blood-red gums.

I punched the smile off his greasy face and he fell back down before I hit him again in the gut. He coughed, wheezing. I dragged him up by his collar.

"Tell us where le Blance is and you live. Refuse...and that was only a taste of what we've got for you." I tilted my head at Nadia, who had pulled out her favorite knife for torturing. She ran her slim fingers over the wicked blade and skull hilt like it was a kitten.

The material of his jeans darkened as he wet himself. Nadia could scare the shit out of people.

"O-okay." He wailed, trying to get out of my grip. "I don't know much, man, okay? I-I just help load the crank and slap a few bitches, that's all. I got no clue where Daddy's house is or where he works he–he just visits sometimes, and that's only when he needs to shoot someone."

"Who's you're higher up?" I snarled. "Who do you report to?"

"Ah! I–his name's Marco, okay? He's, like, Daddy's son. He-he operates out of the old church that got burned down three years ago, okay? In the basement, in the back room. That's where you'll find him."

"Yo, Jazz," Nadia said, "You know what church he's talking about?"

"_Yeah, I got it right here; St. Martian's Church. Built in 1997 on Franklin Boulevard on the outskirts of town. Apparently shut down due to multiple break-ins and molestation charges against the priest. Brings back memories, huh Spazz?"_

I suppressed a smirk. Kyle always made fun of the Catholic priests crap.

"We're done here," I said. Nadia met my eyes and she walked closer to the gangster wannabe, a dangerous glint in her eyes reflected by her curved knife. The guy's face fell as all hope was diminished.

"Wait you-you said I would live!" He screamed. "You said!"

I walked away as Nadia closed in and felt a vibration in my pocket. I checked my phone and found another text from Craig.

_Hey, clyde found some girl 2 c the movie with. Wanna hang out my house tomorrow? _

I smiled as the man's scream was cut off by a knife in his throat. We couldn't let him live; he was a witness, a trail leading to us.

Trails had to be covered up.


	2. I'll Do Anything

**You can all thank the influence of Call of Duty: Black Ops for speedy writing. Does that game not kick serious a$$?**

Back in the car–a modified silver Bugatti Veyron, equipped with supercharger (Sam installed it), attachments up the ass (her models) and an exterior transforming system that would make Optimus Prime jealous (one-of-a-kind)–she let Kyle back at the motel type in the coordinates for the church into her G.P.S. Again, hers. She really liked cars.

She was also extremely possessive of her wheels. I have never gotten to drive the damn thing, let alone turn the music. All I've been allowed to do is use the machine gun loaded in the trunk. And even then she freaked.

Anyway.

She started up the W16 engine and switched on the transformers; I watched lazily as the hood vibrated, opened up on an axle and flipped over while the bumper rounded out and the fenders angled themselves. The grilles popped out; Sam got out of the car and popped the trunk after the tailgates were done and went to work finding different grilles to install, then throwing the others back in the trunk.

While she tended to her baby, I changed shirts and put in green contacts from the kit hidden in the floorboards. Then I chose a flame red wig to pull over my head and secure in place. When Sam came back in she looked over at me and smirked.

"Is someone trying out a new look, Carrot Top?"

I gave a meek smile. "Do I really look like him?"

"Not really."

She backed up the now dark blue-and-silver pseudo Porsche and drove down the back alley behind the Indian restaurant we chose to hide the car. Come on. If that stuff smells rank while its good...ugh. I'll smell like rotten eggs and cat piss for days.

Sam wove through the traffic like a fish around rocks _(okay, weird metaphor) _and ran about five red lights. In minutes we had three cop cars on our trail.

I eyed her wearily. "Really Sam? I'm too tired for this."

"Shut up. I feel like a little chase action. All you have to do is sit there and turn on my music, please."

Wow, really? She was bored. I shrugged and turned on the stereo, hitting the three button. Instantly _Cobrastyle _pulsed through every molecule in the car.

"_Sam! What the hell?" _Kyle nearly shrieked. _"You're leading the cops right to our target? Have you lost your fucking mind?" _

"Chill. I have a plan."

"_Your plans suck. This is just useless fun for you, isn't it? I'm taking them off your tail." _

"Let me lose them."

"_If you don't do it in two minutes..." _

"Right."

I held back a shriek as she did a U-turn that left my stomach somewhere in California and blasted off at close to seventy miles, leaving smoke on the street. She dodged cars like, like...okay, enough with the metaphors. She was a fucking lunatic, okay? Insane. She got a rush from all the adrenaline pumping through her blood.

I wasn't really in this for the rush. I wasn't an adrenaline junkie like Sam. And Kyle...to be honest I don't know how Broflovski got into the business. He just seemed to enjoy hacking governmental firewalls and running searches on his systems. It was like a puzzle for him. He was especially brilliant when we were assigned a convict on the most wanted list.

Me...I was kind of drafted. Recruited. It happened when I was thirteen. Me and my parents were on vacation in Denver, visiting my grandmother. We went to the supermarket, where she let me sit on a bench near the front of the store. I was playing my Gameboy and was oblivious to everything until an arm wrapped around me and a man held me up in front of him.

He smelled like alcohol and smoke, and his arm around my throat was scratchy from the tattered jacket he wore. All rational thoughts flew out of my head when I felt a cool, metallic touch on my temple.

"TWEEK!" I heard my grandma scream. I couldn't see her, and didn't dare turn my head. I can't remember what the man was screaming about; the blood roaring through my ears blocked out any sound. Then he threw me down and pressed the bottom of his dirty boot against my face.

He cocked the gun and aimed it at me. The inside of the barrel was dark oblivion, an ominous black hole. I stared at it; that was the first time in my life I had stopped shaking without meditation.

I looked up at his face; it's a blur now when I try to remember, but I think he looked scared, and maybe a little crazy. Just a little.

He looked away as someone else screamed and I moved.

I hadn't even thought about moving; it never crossed my mind, to roll away from him and kick the gun from his hand with my spider-y long legs. I blinked and registered that I was now on one knee five feet away from him. The gun had reached its peak in the air and was pulled back down; I caught it naturally and pointed it at the man, who stopped in his tracks and glared at me.

Everything seemed deathly quiet and in slow-motion as a shot rang out and a bullet drove into his forehead.

The shot was from behind me; I looked up and saw a girl my age with long red hair and freckles in a miniskirt. She smiled at me and winked, then ran out the doors and into the night.

The rest was a blur of my parents holding me and crying, of police officers sitting me at a table and asking me what exactly had happened. Those bastards made me relive it five times over until the lawyer my dad got excused me from the interview.

After that I returned to South Park. My parents drove us home and I walked hazily up the stairs. When I opened the door I found a girl with light gold-brown hair and hazel eyes sitting on my bed, playing my Xbox. She had a paper plate with apple slices on it.

Still numb from my ordeal, I just dropped my bag and sat next to her on the bed. I watched her kill zombies for a while until she spoke.

"Do you recognize me?"

"GAH!" I squeaked out. She didn't even flinch. "Um, are you that girl..."

"Yes."

"Oh GOD! Why did you-ngh-shoot that guy?"

"Because I was paid to," she said nonchalantly, pausing the game to chew thoughtfully on a crisp apple slice. She suddenly looked at me and I let out another shriek accidentally. "I was about to blow his brains out when he grabbed you for a human shield. Have you ever had training?"

I blushed and looked away. "W-well, I do go to the gym to box sometimes, and my dad-ngh-got me signed up for karate when I was nine. But..." I bit my lip hard as I tried to sum up the words to described what had happened.

"But your body moved without you telling it to."

I whipped my gaze back around to her. She paused the game again and gave me a side smirk. "Right?"

I nodded, frowning. Suddenly my paranoia hit me full-on and I screamed. "You're here to kill me too, aren't you? OH SWEET JESUS I don't want to die!"

She slapped a hand over my mouth and smiled. "Twitchy little thing, aren't ya?" She pulled a card out of her jean pocket and pressed it into my palm. "Listen Tweek Tweak, I've read up on you. My associate, who shall remained unnamed, does background research on everyone I target. I asked him about you. You're thirteen years old, born March 5, in South Park, Colorado. You have A.D.D. and an addiction to coffee, been to see three therapists about possible dementia praecox, receive average grades and have a low level of insomnia. You speak fluent English and Mongolian, but get straight A's in Spanish, Japanese and French." Um, I'm good with languages. Not so much math.

"And from what I have seen," she pulled away, smiling, "you've got real promise."

I blinked. "Promise? I-in what?"

She sighed. "Listen, Blondie. I kill people." I flinched. "It's what I do. Right now I attend highschool in North Park, playing the part of a normal girl in advanced classes, you know? Doing my homework, going on pointless little dates, shopping with my friends. But at night, I meet with people that have contacted my associate and we discuss business. They give me money to K.O. someone. Sometimes it's a president of a company, sometimes a famous person, and usually it's just a random guy to me. An ex that cheated. A despised colleague. A professor that felt a student up. Sometimes they tell me why I should kill them; other times it's just a pointed finger at a photo and a, 'here's the guy, now put a bullet in his head.'"

She held up her hands and gave a tired smile. "Truth is, we've been getting a lot of business, and they pay _damn well._ And we need more, ah, employees. And you are kinda cute," she added, finishing off the last slice. I eeped and looked down at the card in my hands, staring at the printed numbers.

She stood up and walked to the window. "Think about it, Tweek. If you want to know more, dial that number, then press zero after three rings. Ask for Nadia."

I ran my fingers over the numbers and looked up. "But who–"

She was gone.

I stared at the card for a long time. I laid back on my bed and then stared at the ceiling. Then the table. Then the wall.

Was this a joke? A prank? It couldn't be real, and yet I felt the corner give me a paper cut as I squeezed the card tightly. A strange girl that had been a red-head with a gun yesterday had just appeared in my bedroom like Batman and offered me a job in killing people for pay. To be a mercenary. An assassin.

I scoffed and flicked it away, watching it drift sluggishly down under my bed. Yeah right. No way was I going to kill people. Not for any amount of money.

That's what I thought, until Craig went bankrupt.

It was Monday morning at school when he sat next to me at our usual table before classes started. He looked like death; pale face, shadowed eyes, even a bruise on his cheek.

"C-Craig!" I asked(?).

He grunted.

"What happened? Gah!"

He shook his head and seemed like he was on the verge of crying. "I got some bad news from my parents on Saturday..."

"W-what?"

He took a long time in answering. "Apparently...my dad got into some bad business. And...we've got no money left. We'll have to move to my aunt's house in about a week."

My heart seemed to stop. Thoughts flashed through my brain at a million miles per second, clouding my senses. Move? MOVE? Craig couldn't move from me! He can't! Craig was the only one–minus Kyle–who could put up with my random outbursts and paranoia. He was my only real friend, who I could count on for anything. I'd do anything for him.

Even...

That night, when I got home, I locked myself in my room and dug out the card from under my bed. When I dialed the number, my heart felt like it was going to explode from my chest.

_Riiing._

I could still hang up.

_Riiing._

Just close your palm.

_Riiing. _

I saw Craig's broken, defeat face. My thumb hit zero before I made the choice.

Silence.

"Hello?" Answered a busy, familiar voice.

"Uh...um..." I nervously grabbed and yanked on my hair with my free hand. "Is..._urk_...Nadia there."

I heard a quiet beep and then faint static.

Then...

"Hello again, Blondie."

**I could go on, but...I feel like that's a good place to stop. I guess I wanted to show kinda ****how**** Tweek started...you know...killing people. Anyway...**

**Review! You guys have no idea how happy it makes me when I get GOOD reviews! It makes me feel guilty for not writing. **


	3. I Promise

**Okay, I would like to say something. In this story, there will come a part where it talks about driving from Las Vegas to South Park (Colorado) in an hour. I am well aware that this is impossible, but for the sake of the story, bear with it. Just pretend Sam's car has jet fuel, mmkay? Mmkay.**

_"__We__like__boys__in__ca~rs,_

_ Boys, boys, boys!_

_ Buy us drinks in ba~rs,_

_ Boys, boys, boys!_

_ With hairspray and denim,_

_ Boys, boys, boys—"_

_ "GOD SHUT UP!" _

Tweek and Sam started laughing as Kyle snapped over the line. They knew how much he hated Lady Gaga, and flaunted it.

Still laughing, Tweek turned down the volume and allowed himself to relax after a successful mission. It was a pretty basic kill; they marched in, pretending to be hook-ups for the drugs, met Daddy, (who was a disgusting, overweight man wearing too much cologne), and put a bullet in his head. To escape, they just broke through the window and ran out to their car. Sam was able to lose them in a matter of seconds.

With navigating help from Kyle, of course.

Who was currently threatening to kill them both via lasers from the satellites he had hacked over the summer if they didn't stop singing.

Sam took off her blonde wig and loosened her ponytail as she drove up to Taco Bell. "Hey, Kyle, you want anything?"

After a pouty pause Kyle said grudgingly, _"__Nachos__and__seven-layer__burrito.__" _

She turned to Tweek with an eyebrow raised in question. Tweek thought and said, "Crunchy taco and cheese roll-ups. And a Coke."

Sam rolled down her window to place their order as Tweek's phone went off for the second time that night. _Who__the__hell__calls__at__three__in__the__morning?_Tweek wondered. He almost flipped when he saw Craig on the ID screen.

Sam, waiting on the food, glanced over and smirked. "Your boyfriend calling you again? Clingy type, ain't he?"

_"__Extremely__possessive,__" _Kyle agreed.

Tweek blushed. "Shut up! Craig's a—a _friend_!" He hit the send button and answered. "H-hello?"

"Tweek."

"_Gah!_Hi_,_Craig."

He hated how he still couldn't talk to Craig like a normal person even when all the adrenaline in him usually steadied his speech.

"Did I wake you?" Craig asked with the tiniest hint of guilt laced in his monotone voice. Tweek felt a thrill go through him.

"N-no! I was, um, playing Xbox!"

"You don't even _have_a Xbox," Sam muttered under her breath.

"Oh, good," Craig sighed. "Listen, I hate to ask you this...I mean really _hate_it, but could I come over to your house for tonight? Like right now?"

"Um," Tweek whimpered. "C-can you hold on for a minute?"

"Sure..?"

Tweek covered the phone with one hand and ignored the wrapped food tossed his way. "Sam, how soon can we make it back to South Park?"

"Hm, if I run red lights and pass up every sap going under eighty...an hour."

_"__What?__" _

"C-Craig?"

"Still here..."

_"__Sam,__did__you__just__say__an__hour?__"_

"Um, is it okay if you wait like, an hour before coming over?"

"Well..." Tweek sensed something more to this conversation. "I guess. Can I ask why?"

_"__Sam,__that'll__just__attract__more__attention__you__—" _Tweek ripped the earpiece out of his ear impatiently.

"_Ah!_UM," Tweek looked desperately at Sam, who shrugged with a mouthful of burrito. It gave him an idea. "I'm sick!" He almost shouted, causing Kyle to snort in amusement over the line. "And throwing up...A LOT! My mom said I'll be okay in an hour or...something...cause of food poisoning...from Taco Bell." Tweek could almost _feel_Kyle rolling his eyes.

"Oh," came the surprised reply, "then are you sure it's okay? I can go to Clyde's or—"

"_Nonono,_really, its fine! Besides, I don't think that Clyde would, _ngh_, be okay with being waken up this early."

"Good point." Craig sighed again. Tweek tilted his head questioningly. "Craig," he asked hesitantly, "what's going on?" He heard the raven moving around on the other end of the phone line and hoped Craig couldn't hear the acceleration of the engine as Sam left what few other drivers there were in the dust.

Craig cleared his throat nervously. "Don't worry about it, okay, Tweek? I don't want you to get all crazy upset...like when I was moving away in seventh grade." Tweek flinched. Memories, ugh. Tweek wanted to take Craig's words and believe that he was alright, that it was nothing huge—maybe his parents were having a fight. They argued a lot. But Tweek knew Craig better than Craig thought, and Tweek could hear that slight shift, edge, shake in his voice.

Craig was scared.

Tweek frowned. "Craig." Alert the presses, he didn't stutter. "What's going on? Tell me. I'll worry more if you don't."

A long pause. Then, "Someone tried to kidnap me tonight. I need a place to stay."

Tweek's jaw dropped. He regained his voice faster than he thought he would. "W-wouldn't you normally go to the police for that?"

"Yes, _normally,_" here Craig's voice grew venomous, "but _daddy__dearest_loves his whores and gambling so much that he's afraid to look at the fuzz, much less give them access to our house."

Tweek's brain was moving like lightning. "Your mother, sister? Where are they?"

"Flew out to New Jersey to stay with a friend. Dad's leaving for a business trip."

A flash of anger sparked in Tweek's chest and he gritted his teeth. "Neither of them bothered to send you anywhere for protection?"

"Nope," was his indifferent, expectant response. Tweek's left eye twitched and he suppressed the urge to have Kyle screw with their government files. _I'll__just__have__'Mysterion'__give__'em__a__late__night__visit,_he decided and pushed it out of mind.

"Alright, Craig, look. Get your stuff together and leave your house _now._Wear dark clothes, make sure the house lights are off when you leave so it's harder to spot you. Get a weapon of some sort; pepper spray, or a taser or even a knife. Something you can conceal. Go somewhere public; go to the CVS a few blocks from my house and walk around in there for a little bit." As an after thought, he added, "and, um, pick me up some Pepto-Bismol, please."

The surprise at Tweek's sudden turn of attitude was tangible. Tweek noticed that he and Sam had reached the motel that Kyle was stationed at; now the red-head was running out the door, his gear in his bags.

Craig let out a soft, "Okay. See you in an hour...Tweek."

Tweek swallowed the rage he felt for the poor fuckers who had tried to take him. "One hour," he promised.

**Dun-dun-DUN!**

**[Review,****or****Mysterion****will****get****you****too.]**


	4. STBT

**Yes, I know, its been forever since I updated. But now its yaoi time! **

**Second of all—did you guys notice the shift from first-person to third? Was so by accident. It's back in first, its rightful place. **

Sam drives without any of her usual show-off tricks and rockets it to South Park, Kyle cussing her out so frequently and loudly I was worried he'd hurt himself. We slow it down when we enter the limits of South Park, the configurators slowly taking the Bugatti from sexy and sleek to...South Park style.

Which is an old Cameo with mud splats on it.

We drive by the CVS, and it's all I can do not to break that window and jump out and run to Craig. A fresh wave of fury makes my scalp prickle and I squeeze my fist, imagining it slamming into one of the kidnappers' faces. Sam gives me a look, and I notice my grim smirk in the mirror.

Sam slows to a stop and hands me my bags. We lock eyes.

"Call me," she mimes, and screeches off, Kyle giving me a determined nod from the back seat. I nod back and run behind my house, shoes throwing up bits of sparkling white powder. God, do I love snow.

I unlock the back door and listen to the quiet noises of my house; fridge humming, A/C kicking on, a fan whirring, and, from upstairs, the even snoring of my old man. I breathe out, thankful that my parents are heavy sleepers, and stalk up the stairs to my room.

I look at the clock: 3:54. Wow, Sam had really been bookin' it.

Craig would be here in a matter of minutes. And I still had some blood on my shirt and a bruised cheek.

Crap.

_Hurry, gotta hurry. Normal, twitchy 'tweek' mode. _

Change shirts into pj's. Get out a trash can to put by my bed like I've been getting sick. Change my mind and change out of pj's and go with a loose black tee and boxers.

What if Craig slept in boxers? In my b—

Stop. Can't see Craig with a nosebleed.

My hyper-sensitive ears catch tentative footsteps on snow outside my kitchen window.

I look out; there's Craig, and my heart instantly goes bat-shit insane. Crap, I sound like a girl, don't I?

I float down the stairs and to the back door, opening it slowly and hissing out, "Craig!"

He appears like a friggin' ninja, his midnight-black attire blending in with the dark. His sapphire eyes look tired and confused.

Wordlessly he walks inside and follows me to the basement, where we've got a couch and some blankets. And my PlayStation 3, but that's not important.

Craig walks right over to the PlayStation and inserts Dead Space. I stand behind him as the screen illuminates his profile in the gloom. Neither of us bothered to turn on a light.

He starts going trigger-crazy while I twitch nervously. I was used to this; if something bad happens, Craig just kind-of shuts down until he's ready to talk about it. I just wait until he does.

But this time, he breaches the usual code of conduct by tossing me a small bottle of Pepto-Bismol and asking, "You still sick?"

"_Hrgk, _uh, not really anymore...I-I got it out of my system."

Craig just hums as his thumbs fly. I set the bottle on a table and walk over to stand on his left, sitting down with my legs crossed and impatient for him to tell me what the hell is going on. I have a sinking feeling that it has something to do with his heartless ginger father, with his gambling condition and occasionally drug usage, but I keep my mouth shut and watch Craig shoot space aliens on a deserted airship.

It's hard not to stare at him, but somehow I manage to keep it to a sly look every other five minutes to study his features; his skin, always fair, but not pale, is almost eerie in the glow of the screen. His eyes are such a deep blue they look violet sometimes. His hair is hidden under his favorite hat, but I already know it's a slightly shaggy but silky ink-black. His lips are thin and a light peach color, currently pressed into a strained line.

His hands are larger then mine, but my fingers are longer; right now his knuckles are bone white as he grips the controller.

He slowly sets it down as the scene fades to black and the next level loads.

"So I was in bed," his deep voice, monotone and quiet, seems to beat on my ear drums, "when all of a sudden I felt something on my neck. I opened my eyes and there's this fucker in a black ski mask holding a knife to it, with two more assholes right behind 'em." The game turns back on and he starts shooting more mutants. "They told me to get out of bed, and I do it 'cuz they got a knife on me like a bitch. Then they basically lifted me off the floor by my arms" I spy a bruising pattern on the inside of his arm when he hitches it up for emphasis "and tried putting me in a god-damn trash bag like I'm garbage. Well, all of a sudden one of 'em's on the floor out cold and I see Mysterion punch the fucker holding me up in the face."

Inside I make a note to thank Kenny like, a thousand times.

"And the third fucker, he hits him on the head with somethin' and tells me to get my shit and leave the house for a while. Said he'd take care of the bodies." The corner of Craig's mouth twitched. "I don't think they were dead, just passed out. Anyway after that I called the one person I knew would be up this late."

The screen went black as his player got torn apart into a bloody mess. Craig tossed the controller down and met my eye. My back shivered a bit with too many emotions to count.

"W-well, you can stay here til..." Til what? Til his worthless dad and uncaring bitch of a mother come back and offer him up as bait to save their own necks? I shrugged. "Whenever."

His eyes showed a glint of gratitude. "Thanks."

We sat there for a while, just staring at the black screen and listening to the coyotes in the woods across from my house howl. Eventually Craig made himself a cot on the couch out of blankets. I left, quietly walking up the stairs and shutting the door.

About twenty minutes later, when I was sure he was asleep, I got out my cell and called Sam.

"Hey Sam. Get Kyle to call 'Mysterion' so we can get together. I need some answers about our next targets."

"Gotcha," she answered. "Operation S.T.B.T. is a go."

Tweek blinked. "'S.T.B.T.'?"

"'Save Tweek's Boy Toy'."

"Fantastic. Thanks, Sam."


	5. Goin' to Hell

***sigh* god-damnit. Why can't I quit you, ?**

***Tweek's P.O.V.***

With Craig asleep on my couch in the basement, (I didn't watch him sleep. At all. That would be creepy) I snuck up to my room and made a quick dial to a certain blonde boy.

_Briing._

"Good morning, sunshine. How is Boy Toy this morning?"

He and Sam stayed in touch way too often.

"Sleeping. Tell me about last night."

"Exactly what he said. I was making my rounds through town, when I saw a couple shady-looking fuckers surrounding Craig's house. Approximately six guys all in black with switchblades and handguns, one guy had a bat. I took 'em out, got Craig out of the house, and dropped them off at the station."

I was at my computer now, logging on. "You didn't find out who sent them?"

"Of course I did, Cherry." His nickname for me. Ever since he found out I'm a virgin….ugh. "Is Jazz on?"

"Here," Kyle chirped over the line.

"Jesus, when are you not in my ear?" I exclaimed.

"What did you find?" Kyle asked, ignoring my outburst.

"Okay, get this. Remember that guy you out'ed last week? Marc, um, Marc Dillons?"

I closed my eyes and remembered last week. Physics test, history paper, driving to Denver, Subway stop, strangling a curly-haired guy in a motel, watching the Walking Dead, new coffee beans at Harbuck's.

"Yeah."

"Yes."

"Dude, it's his _sister_, Norah Dillons. Apparently she's taken over the family business since her dad's bedridden. I was told that Craig's dad asked them for a loan here and there and didn't pay up soon enough."

"Jazz?"

"I got it," Kyle said. "Norah Silvia Dillons, 24, born December 12. Arrested twice for charges of arson and battery. Father is Antony Dillons II. Currently Norah's got control over three different gangs." I could hear his fingers tapping the keys methodically. "These gangs are named Los Tigres, Black Teeth, and a branch of the Cosa Nostra. Spazz, you and Nadia have taken out at least 12 guys from these groups. There's probably a bounty on your heads. Though, now that I'm looking at what Craig's father did, its nothing compared to the bounty on his head.

"His dad borrowed $6,500 dollars all together with first transaction taking place in May. He had five months to repay it with a 5% monthly interest and never did. When they sent over a 'persuasive meeting group' he shot two of them and busted another one's head open in the alleyway by his work."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Not only did this asshole kill three of their members, but he put his son in danger because he owed them—

"Jazz?" I asked quietly. "How much does he owe them by now?"

Kyle was quiet for a minute. "$8775."

Silence.

"That is," Kyle continued uncomfortably, "if they aren't looking for compensation for their dead members or a late fee."

I felt my insides drop. They were definitely going to be looking for Craig's father. And what was the best way to fish out a parent? Hold their crying kid in front of them with a gun at their head. There were two problems with this logic, however. One, Craig's dad didn't give a shit about anyone but himself, and it didn't look like his mother was that different.

And two, Craig didn't cry.

I got on my laptop and looked through my schedule. In the next three weeks I had four missions planned. Two were in Colorado, one in Utah and another in Arizona.

"Jazz, cancel these missions. We've got a new objective."

I heard the tapping stop. "What?" Kyle asked, low and dangerous.

"Our new mission is to get Craig out of danger. Permanently."

"What?!" Kyle's voice rose to a snarl. "What makes you think you can just rewrite our entire schedule for him? Do you know what this means? Refunds, recalls, Nadia will have to track down our clients and inform them that we can't carry out their requests because one of our employees is having relationship troubles—"

"Then get Nadia to do them on her own again!" I retorted. "I'm not abandoning Craig right now."

"So you're going to track down the head of a gang, shut down her resources, and use up our time to help out your crush?"

"What if it was Stan?"

Kyle grew quiet. "It's different."

"Think what you want. But be sure you let Nadia know that I won't be going with her again until Dillons is shut down."

"_Tweek_—"

"_Kyle!"_

The creak of the basement door opening made me hit 'end' on my phone and slip into the kitchen, getting out two bowls and reaching for the fridge. I heard Craig shuffle into the room and felt my heart speed up a little, making my hands shake.

I turned my head and said, "G-good morning, Craig."

He gave me a 'humph' and stretched. I watched sneakily out of my peripheral as his loose black tee moved up to reveal a slice of pale, taught skin. The morning sun outlined his profile in a golden light, making his fair skin glow.

He walked over to the pantry. "You want Cherios or Lucky Charms?"

I looked up and thought about it a little too much. "Lucky Charms I g-guess."

"I'll have those too," his sleep-laced voice rumbled. I poured the cereal and milk and handed him a spoon, blushing when my fingers barely brushed against his. _Stop acting like a girl, _I chided myself, following him into the living room.

"Where are your parents?" Craig asked, turning on the TV.

"_Hrk, _at the c-café. 5:30 to 9 is the most profitable time for coffee p-purchases."

"Hm," he hummed, spooning the marshmallows and grains into his mouth. As he lifted the spoon, his short sleeves slid to remove the purple bruises on his biceps. I found I couldn't look away and was caught staring, his piercing eyes fixed on me.

"_Gah! _U-um, how are you feeling?"

He shrugged. "Fine, I guess. As good as I can be feeling after nearly getting kidnapped." He abruptly set down the bowl and turned to face me full-on, his face stony. "Tweek, I'm sorry I involved you in this. I don't want you to worry about this…thing. We only have a week more of school before break, so when we get out I'll fly out to my mom and figure out something from there…"

He trailed off uncertainly, leaning closer to me. I could see individual lashes lining those shifting blue eyes, the line of dark stubble on his chin and upper lip. His hair still smelled like shampoo. I felt dizzy.

"Promise me you won't get worked up over this. It's not that bad, so don't worry." He gave me a rare sight: a full-blown smile. "Got it, Tweekers?"

I swallowed. "I-I promise, Craig."

I'm so going to Hell.


	6. Sirens

**Does anyone even read this anymore? **

Craig and I walked from my house to school in almost complete silence, save for the few twitches and grunts that got away from me. I was nervous about seeing Kyle; we hadn't exactly left on good terms, and I knew the red-head could hold a grudge like a motherfucker.

Normally Kyle and I very rarely interacted at school. He stuck to his group, I stuck to…well, mostly myself, but Craig and Clyde and Token didn't mind me hanging around. Not to say that Kyle totally ignored me; when we wound up at the same lunch table or cluster of desks, he said hi and made polite small talk with me. It was part of the illusion that we didn't know each other that well, didn't spend countless hours out of school teaming up to kill people for money.

In fact, I knew more about Broflovski than even Stan. His childhood trauma, his obsession with hacking, (and I do mean OBSESSION), how he had an unexpected affinity for evaluating someone's life based on profit and loss, stocks and good feedback. Kyle was analytical, methodical; yet he had a raging opposite too, a side that ran completely on impulse and emotion. He was a violent person, but had the coordination of a walrus with no legs. Therefore, he was the most callous with our target's lives. As I said before, he can hack almost any firewall, and has close ties with people at WikiLeaks and underground hacker societies.

I see him as the most dangerous of us all.

Sam was a loose cannon. She was diagnosed as a nymphomaniac at age thirteen, resulting in shock therapy and multiple meetings with her family's priest that ended…not too holy. Her parents were murdered Batman-style in a diner right in front of her. The culprit got away, but not for long. She managed to spot him at a local grocery store and knifed him in the fruit isle. She lived on her own in a modest apartment and attended a private university in North Pole. Her lifestyle of Taco Bell, workouts at home and gardening hid the fact that combined with her parents' insurance money, income from our business and a very profitable selling of stock that she and Broflovski went half-way with, she was close to being a millionaire. The only luxury she indulged in was car parts, disguises and weapons.

I have decided that she was beautifully insane.

Between the two of them, Craig was the solid foundation that I stood on. He was predictable, and yet eccentric. He had to have times to himself, away from everyone; only when he felt like he was re-centered did he allow anyone to approach him. His hobbies were video games, listening to Muse, and reading old literature that would bore anyone else. (Wuthering Heights, A Tale of Two Cities, Jane Eyre, etc.) He didn't have anything to hide. And if he did, he wouldn't give a shit if anyone found out.

He made me feel guilty.

I kept secrets from him. I lied to him. I was more involved in his life than I let on, and on a daily basis I wondered if he would still tolerate me if he ever found out the real me. The split personality. The cold-blooded killer. Spaz.

I felt a cool hand press against my temple and snapped my gaze up to see Craig watching me steadily, frowning slightly.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I…I'm tired," I got out. "S-stomach was still being a bitch all night."

He cocked an eyebrow and ruffled my hair. "You should look into that. Seems like it happens almost every other week."

I felt the blood rush to my face. "Yeah, m-maybe."

He was being more observant than I'd like. I've always known how Craig sees me; a delicate, nerve-wrecked addict who can't handle any responsibility and crumbles under pressure. And he's right. When I'm around Craig, I lose whatever control I have over myself and am resolved to a shaking mess.

My job is the only thing that stops it. The threat, the adrenaline, the strategies. Something about it clarifies everything for me. Some animal instinct comes out and I can see, hear, and feel everything.

Of course, part of the threat I feel is the danger I feel for the people I care about. As much as I'd love to deny it, Sam and Kyle have grown on me. We've come so far, we're in so deep, that if one goes down, then we all go. The whole reason I even started working with Sam (who named our small, miniscule group "_Plague" _for some reason) was to help one very important person.

Slipping the check under Craig's dad's office door four years ago was supposed to be the end of my career as an assassin. But it didn't turn out that way. I'm regarded as a liability, a dysfunctional member of society, and a freak by the rest of the world. But in my world, where Sam and Kyle are just as fucked up as me, and where we do what we do best, for the people that matter most, I'm perfectly sane.

As we reached the steps leading up the school the bell for first period rang and everyone milling around started moving towards the doors. Craig stayed close to me as we were herded into the opening hallway and walked down to our lockers, which were two apart from each other.

"Alright," Craig sighed closing his locker, "ready for the exciting word of study hall?"

I cracked a nervous smile. "Where all our dreams come true?"

"And then Mrs. Stigall stabs them with her hair chopsticks."

I chuckled. Mrs. Stigall always wore these chopstick things in her bun that were way too big for her thinning hair, constantly falling out and hitting students on the head. We headed that way, Craig ignoring the looks his 6'5" stature always drew, me keeping up with his long strides. I'm not short. Not as short as Craig likes to say I am, anyway. He's stupidly tall.

I couldn't help but shiver at the sensation of Craig's rough jacket brushing against my arm as we walked to class. I let out an _eep _and got a raised brow from him. I shrugged and hurried to my usual seat, the open one next to the window…

…where Kyle was sitting. Arms folded, lips tight, jade eyes glinting underneath rusty hair.

Said eyes narrowed as I halted halfway to the table, unsure if I really wanted to feel Kyle's menacing aura all class long until the sirens went off. Everyone in class looked around, confused.

"Tornado sirens?" Craig mumbled. He looked out the window at the perfectly clear sky. "But why—"

The principal came on over the speaker. "Attention, students and faculty." A tense hush fell over the school. "We have received word that there has been a mass shooting at North Pole Private Academy." My scalp prickled. "All students are to return home using the streets marked with police personnel. We will send out a notification if school will resume tomorrow or not. If you see any suspicious individuals wearing all black attire—" _Like the Black Teeth?_ "—take cover and call the authorities.

"Teachers, please escort the students out to the front yard to be accounted for and sent home."

Mine and Kyle's eyes met in a silent agreement. I cracked my knuckles, ignoring the look Craig gave me.

_Game on, Dillons. _


	7. Lazy Bird Gets the Pizza

Tense silence filled the car as Sam drove her Bugatti with little enthusiasm, passing other cars mechanically on the freeway and losing cops here and there. I passed the time unloading and reloading my .33 again and again, only stopping when Sam gave me a long, searing look.

"It's gonna be fine, Spazz." She popped a Marbol in her mouth and lit it, ignoring my look of disgust. "We pop in, gain some intel, place a chip on some poor chump and camp out for a while. Kyle said we won't have school for a week. That's plenty of time to shut down a mafia boss, right, Jazz?"

"_Don't involve me." _Kyle had stayed in South Park for this particular trip. _"I'm still against this whole thing. It would be easier if you just gave me a few days of hacking and cross-dressing their records—"_

"Aw, but that's _so _impersonal. We provide service with a smile, right, Spazz?" I found I was too preoccupied to be even mildly creeped out by her sadistic side.

"Um, Jazz, how's he..?"

Kyle sighed at my unfinished question. _"The Raven is _fine_, Spazz. For the last time I've got a sight on him, asked Mysterion to cover him, _and_ engaged the security routers at your house. Seriously, stop asking me every ten minutes."_

I apologized and took to running my eyes over the blueprints of the casino for the fifth time. The main floor was a geometric paradise, with plenty of space for slots and other wastes of money; the second floor was going to be easy to navigate, as it was the bar and stage hall, where I could blend in with the crowd; I only hoped that our target wouldn't get up to the third, where the private rooms and spa would make it hard for us to, as Kyle puts it, 'tiptoe on silent cat feet'.

"_FUCK!" _Sam and I flinched at Kyle's outburst. _"God-damn porn ads keep popping up __fuck-dammit!__" _

Yep. That's our O.S.

After another twenty minutes of driving Sam pulled up to the Castello Casino, all glimmering lights and neon stars and elegant fountains. She pulled up to the valet and stylishly slid out of the driver's seat, looking unrealistically sexy in her sleek black dress that moved with her like water and blonde wig that caught the rays of the lights.

I got out as dignified as I could manage, trying to look as though I didn't feel outrageously uncomfortable in a tux. Instead of giving me a wig, Sam had made me apply blue contacts and slicked my hair into some weird side-swirl thing, even adding a bit of powder to my jaw line.

I wondered if Craig would think I looked handsome.

We made our way up to the second floor where about thirty tables with pristine white covers and shiny candles and wine glasses were located in front of a twenty-foot stage.

We entered the place casually, Sam throwing gorgeous smiles here and there, me whispering sweet nothings in her ear and showing off more suave confidence then a Calvin Klein model. Or trying to.

Sam flagged down a waitress and ordered a scotch on rocks. After a prompt from her I ordered a white Russian and she left to get our drinks.

After she left, we sat at the bar right in front of us. Sam raised an eyebrow. "White Russian?"

I gave her a cool smile and situated myself on the stool. "I've had it before. Not too bad."

The red-headed waitress returned quicker than I expected and soon I was nursing a (very strong) drink while trying to scope out the scene and making small talk. _Natural. Act natural. We're a high-class couple enjoying cold drinks and betting chips. Not assassins, no, nononono._ Soon we had spotted just the man we had come for.

Norah Dillons' fiancé. He was sitting with a company of four men and three women, all dressed to impress and flashing diamonds and perfectly gelled hair. He was about 6'3", built sturdy and had rich mahogany hair and dimples that showed when he flashed his pearly whites.

"_I've gotten into their system," _Kyle spoke into our ears, "_There are four exits on the first floor, three on the second and three on the third, including the fire escape outside the east window. Remember, you have to get up and personal with this guy. If you distract him enough he won't even notice he's been hit." _

I thumbed the syringe of nano-trackers that Kyle had acquired that, once I injected them into his system, Kyle would be able to track him from any of his satellites. I wasn't going to ask how or where he got the injection, only that it had been in a box covered with Russian.

Sam—er, Nadia—smiled and licked the remaining drops of scotch off her lips. She gave me a wink. "Let's get it going."

She stood up with her remaining ice cubes clinking in the short glass and strutted like a jaguar towards the restrooms, right pass the target's table and made sure that he had checked her out before doing a double-take on him. 

"_Well," _I could hear her through the earpiece and partially from across the room, speaking with a French accent, _"Would I be wrong if I were to assume you to be Mr. Lukas Diamonte?" _

Diamonte looked surprised for a split second before shifting ever so subtly in his seat to face up at her, eyes doing a poor job of stay above her bust, and saying something I didn't quite catch; Nadia laughed charmingly and stirred her leftover scotch with one finger as she sat down, much to the surprise of everyone at the table.

Things were going smooth as she made conversation with everyone at the table; and I do mean _everyone. _I shook my head and downed the last of my drink, wondering if maybe she should give me some acting lessons.

A few minutes ticked by and I got impatient. _We don't have all night, Sam. Hurry it—what?_

I noticed that quite a number of men—all armed, I could tell—had gathered at the farthest fire exit. As though—

"_Shit. Spazz, Nadia, we got a problem. More and more Black Teeth are coming out of an unsupervised office on the third floor near the north wall, I've counted ten on your level, about six more—scratch that, seven—on the third, and about five making rounds on the first. _

"You couldn't warn me sooner?" I muttered quietly, placing a tip on the bar and walking towards the restroom, towards Nadia, who made brief eye contact with me.

"_They just appeared on my screens, Spazz. Get Diamonte bugged and get the fuck out of there."_

"Hey you!" I turned to my right and found three of the Black Teeth with their hands in their pockets eyeing me warily. "Come with us."

I smoothed back my hair. "Certainly, gentlemen, but perhaps you could indulge me on the reason why?"

The leader, a lanky man with pock scars on his face, sneered. "Our boss wants to talk to you. You, too," he raised his voice, directing it at Sam, who gave him a steady glare. Next to her, Daiamonte watched it all with amusement.

"Better do as he says, love," he grasped her arm and stood her up, "come, I'll even—" He was cut off by Sam twisting his arm and throwing him over her shoulder like a sack of flour.

Instantly the Black Teeth whipped out their guns; I didn't give them a chance to fire. I lunged forward, twisting Crater-Face's wrist in a hold, slugging one with my fist and blocking a weak punch by one; they all got thrown by yours truly and I rolled to one of the tables now clear of any guests as most of the audience had fled.

Diamonte was still on his back as the other group of Black Teeth started firing. Sam and I tipped a table and took cover from fire.

"Here," I handed her the syringe. "You get him, I'll get them."

"I'll help you in just a minute."

A bullet ricocheted off the stacks of bottles behind use and produced an alcoholic waterfall. "I'll probably be done by then."

"I'll take that action."

"You're on."

"_For fuck's stake, BUG HIM AND GO!" _

We split up. She dove for the pretty boy, I fired three shots and shattered the light fixture above the men, stunning them long enough for me to run at them, knock two out with two quick jabs, ducked as a fist came my way, jumped from a kick, returned the favor threefold and dislocated one shoulder.

I looked up at Sam when I was done and smirked.

"Show-off," she muttered. She tapped the empty syringe and cocked her head at a bloodied, unconscious Diamonte. "He put up more of a fight than I expected."

"_More security on the way. Might want to get moving." _

We ran to the fire escape, feeling a breeze off the bullets that went flying past us. I shot at them, making them take cover and followed Sam down the stairs and forced open the door, setting off the fire alarm.

As the crowds of people migrated outside, we slipped in and made ourselves invisible, keeping an eye on the two Black Teeth searching for us and saw Diamonte slumped over one's shoulder, nose dripping with blood and a black eye blooming.

We sneaked through the parking lot and found the Bugatti. I gave Sam a look. "The valet—" She jingled her keys.

"What, you think I gave him my actual pair? Those he's got are fake. They'll melt if he leaves them in his pocket for too long. Which they do. Every time."

"There they are!" An enraged voice called over the commotion. We quickly got in and Sam wasted no time in starting up that thunder-like engine, backing out—I nearly pissed myself at how close we got to hitting a silver Lexus—and speeding out of the lot, leaving skid marks.

"Well," I breathed, flicking the contacts out the window, "that wasn't as inconspicuous as I would've liked."

"More fun, though."

I thought for a moment. "Yeah, more fun."

**Craig's POV**

I woke up. I scratched my ass, got a look at the clock, and gave the sun a mental _fuck off_ as I rolled over and got comfortable. And then I noticed that my sheets smell weird, like coffee. And I never drink that crap, although I do indulge in a soda every now and again. I smelled them again and a wave of familiarity washed over me.

_Tweek._

That jittering blonde mess smells like coffee 24/7. I swear that kid spends more time and money on his caffeine fix than a dealer on crack. You could tell what flavor he was indulging in that day just from the aroma wafting around him.

I then remembered the events that took place the past couple of nights and felt the reoccurring stone drop in my stomach. Getting strangled, beaten, driven out of my home, (shitty home that it was), and begging Tweek Tweak, of all people, for help.

Not that I don't like Tweek. The polar opposite, really; I liked when he hung around. He made things interesting. Where I will admit to being boring and uncaring, it's comical to see how much Tweek will fight the truth of how spastic and hyper-aware he is. Hyper-aware of other's feelings, what they say and what they don't say, things like that. He doesn't admit it, but he's smart like that. Smart in the department where I'm failing.

It's just that I hate to think of him getting involved in this shit. I keep having these visions of Tweek, alone in his house, with those guys busting through the door and beating the living shit out of him like animals, dragging him back to whatever hellhole they crawled out of and—

I swore and crushed my fist into the pillow, earning a less than satisfying result and rolled out of the make shift bed on the basement couch, feeling my joints pop as I stood to my full height and somehow made it up the stairs without hitting the beams a centimeter away from my head.

I expected the TV to be on, or for Tweek to be in his kitchen or tapping away on his laptop. Instead the house greeted me with silence, the only sounds being the heater and cars passing by outside.

It wasn't really that early, around 11 in the morning; but I would happily stay up till 3 and not get up until noon if the public school system would let me.

Tweek wasn't there. After checking all the rooms and calling his name twice, I found a note he had scribbled down in messy scrawl:

_Craig, I hope you slept okay! There's leftover pizza and cereal and eggs if you want anything to eat. I had to help my parents out at the shop and probably won't be back till dinner. —Tweek _

I stood there for a minute and finally tossed the note in the trash, making my way to the kitchen and finding the pizza box. I poured myself a glass of water and took it and the box into the living room, turning on the TV to the news channel and commenced eating the cold slices of pepperoni and black olive.

Something was bugging me. So he was out all last night till one in the morning supposedly working with Broflovski on some project, and now he's gone all day today too.

I shifted position on the couch, not paying attention to the breaking news stories. Tweek Tweak was not a social butterfly. He was terrified of people, talking to people, being around people. Usually when I asked him if he wanted to do something together he'd get all excited like hanging with me was the greatest fucking thing in the world. So one would think that me staying over would entail him wanting be here with me, right?

Was he avoiding me? Was I overstaying my welcome? Or was it just a busy couple of days with the shooting and school shutting down for a week?

_Was he hiding something from me?_

I shook my head. That was stupid. Tweek didn't keep secrets. He was the type who wouldn't be able to hold on to one without slowly breaking down and crying and spilling it. We found that out early on.

Tweek helped his parents out all the time at the café. No harm there. But working with Kyle Broflovski on a project? Since when were Tweek and Kyle so buddy-buddy? Then again they were in a bunch of advance classes I was out of due to my not-giving-a-fuck, so maybe they worked together there? What were they working on that required Tweek to stay till one in the morning? That's what bugged me.

A random memory popped up out of nowhere. It was freshman year, and Token and I were walking down the locker hall to meet Clyde. I remember listening to some dignified rant Token was spewing out when out of the corner of my eye I saw Tweek's tangled hair poking into my view. He was at his locker when Broflovski showed up and spoke a few things to him, pushing a piece of paper into his hand and holding eye contact with him for good few seconds before huffing away in the diva-ish was of his. When I inquired about it later Tweek insisted they were notes from chemistry. I bought it and forgot about it almost instantly.

Until now. I erratically stood up and went to get my cell, then found the Harbucks number written on a post-it note on the fridge and called it.

Tweek's father answered it. "Hello, Harbucks on Main Street, South Park. What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Tweak, it's me, Craig."

"Ah, Craig. What is it that you need? We're rather busy—"

"Is Tweek there? Your son?"

"He was, but he left a few minutes ago saying something about a project and that Broflovski kid—"

"Thank you, Mr. Tweak," I gritted out and hung up.

I felt agitated. I felt angry. Why wouldn't Tweek tell me about any of this? What the _fuck _was he hiding?

And why was _Kyle _so involved?


	8. It's Not a Date, It's an Operation

[Vector is online]

[Maverik is online]

[beez_inda_trap is online]

Vector so then you just enter the binary and re-route the system

beez_inda_trap what kind of lossage should I be expecting?

Vector a dragon, mostly. Also, he'll be so swamped with pop-ups. Then you send him a patch to seal the deal and soon you'll be getting copies of all his shit

bezz_inda_trap cupsy. Thnx.

[Plague is online]

Plague maverick, I got your shit. You want me to use the same server as last time?

Maverik hello to you too, Plague dearest. Yes. Will the agreed fee of $700 do?

Plague yep. Send it to my combine.

Vector combine, huh? Who are you hiding from, Plague? Paypal too risky anymore?

Plague yes, actually. I'm working on something at the moment, so no more requests. Speaking of which, I have a request of my own.

beez_inda_trap oh? This is new.

Plague I need intel on a group named the Black Teeth. Namely, the movements of one Norah Dillons in the group. Pays by the bit.

Vector dibs

Plague great. Get their PTY, HQ coordinates and any mentionable persons.

Vector sure. But what exactly do you need it for?

Plague my partners and I are taking them down. Have the info by Sunday, 13:00.

[Plague is offline]

Maverik a little ball of sunshine, that one.

Craig sat on the Tweaks' couch and thrummed his fingers against his knee, only paying a fraction of attention to the TV. It was Friday, and his phone was going off with text messages from Clyde and Token bugging him to hangout, regardless of his 'fuck offs' and rejections.

He was waiting for Tweek. Craig had caught him before he left 'to work at the coffee shop' that morning, informing him that they were, indeed, going out tonight. Tweek had stuttered and tried to make up some excuse that got lost in the rage in Craig's ears. He had clasped his hand over the blonde's mouth and stared until his shaking stopped, saying quietly, "We're going to go out tonight. Come home after work."

A sadistic side of Craig reveled at the crimson pools welling up under his cheekbones and wanted to tug on his messy locks harder, forcing him to hold his stare and watching teeth worry at his lower lip, big brown eyes glazed over with nerves.

Craig paused in his movements and leaned his head back. Was he gay for Tweek Tweak? He had never really found the blonde attractive—he was wiry and pale and jumpy as a goddamn squirrel. But on the other hand, he found Tweek's coffee-laced scent intoxicating, and the noises he made were endearing, if you got used to them, and those eyes, deep and brown with flecks of golden-green floating around in them like fallen leaves in a puddle.

He tried to imagine kissing Tweek, wondering how those chapped, full lips would feel against his. They'd probably be inhumanly hot and quivering, shyly opening when he licked at them. Craig remembered in gym class when he and Tweek had both dove for a save in volley ball; they had ended up colliding with Tweek on top of him, shirt riding up and exposing his back.

Craig remembered touching his exposed skin for a short interval of time as he helped him up, recalling how hot Tweek Tweak had been, like satin under the sun.

Suddenly the scenario in Craig's head shifted to the school locker rooms, where Tweek would always disappear to the stall to dress, out of everyone's view. Craig followed him into the stall and found him half naked, torso bare and gym shorts slipping down narrow his waist and showing off hipbones.

Craig ran his hand up Tweek's chest, which in Craig's head was slim and unmarred and pale, nipples pastel against his skin and shoulders sloping up to his neck in a tantalizing curve.

A sudden spike of actual pleasure brought Craig out of his daydream and he found himself palming his semi-hard erection through his jeans. He sat still, his breath picking up and a snarl overcoming his features as he realized he was getting _aroused _at imaging his male friend undressing in a locker room.

_He'd get all red like he does when I get too close to him. _Craig's hand started moving, drawing a groan out of him. _And he'd try to hide himself, but I wouldn't let him; I'd force him up against a wall and touch him everywhere. I'd fuck his mouth so good he'd be moaning for more and fuck, I'll give it to him. _

Craig unzipped his pants and slipped his hand under the band of his boxers, hissing as his fingers wrapped around his pulsing length. _I'd bite him and lick him and jerk him off so good he'll be noisy as fuck. I'd have to keep him quiet. I'd make him get on his knees and put that smart mouth to work. I'd make him look at me as he sucked my dick. _Craig cursed and fisted himself harder, rutting against his hand.

_Those big dumb eyes would be wet and he'd be so fucking red and shit I can feel that hot mouth on me now. Then, _his breathing was labored as he felt his peak approaching, toes curling into the carpet, _then I'd flip him around and stick his ass in the air and fucking destroy him. I'll fuck him with my cock so good he won't be able to walk. He'll be screaming my name and I'll make him come on himself so good he'll black out. _

Another curse got lost in his throat as he gasped and ground his teeth together as heat erupted between his hands and he swallowed down a moan of Tweek's name. The moments that followed were interesting as he got up and went to wash his hands and run a damp paper towel over his soiled underwear. He found himself swinging between repulsive thoughts about what a horrible human being he was to use Tweek as jerk-off material and thoughts of _yes, I am definitely gay for Tweek Tweak. God fuck it. _

Craig sighed and fixed a bowl of cereal, going back to the couch to wait for the object of his newfound flaming affections.

"But I have to!"

"No," came the harmonious reply from both Kyle and Sam. Kyle was tapping away relentlessly at his laptop, his tablet sitting on his leg and scraps of paper with strange numbers and codes and names scribbled on them. Sam laid on the loveseat going over a map of the northern Nevada area, circles and X's and pins showing where they've pinpointed Dillons' group and their movements.

I, with not much else to do, had taken a break from my ab workouts to inform them about Craig's insistence on 'going out'.

"Guys," I whined, laying down on my back and staring at the ceiling of Sam's apartment, "he looked really serious about it. I think he's p-pissed about me ditching him."

Kyle looked up from his screen and scowled, the effect less than intimidating on his face as wisps of red hair curled out from his casual ponytail. "I'm sorry, who was the one who decided we were going to take down a multi-faceted drug-pedaling criminal organization on our own time with our own money?"

"…me?"

"Right. So shut up and work."

"I'm not even doing anything! You two don't even need me here!"

From her position on the loveseat Sam piped up. "He's got a point, Kyle. We don't really need him at the moment. And besides, we know there are at least a faction of the Black Teeth in South Park somewhere. Maybe they'll make a move on Craig if Tweek parades him around a bit."

I felt my eye twitch. "You want me to use him as bait?"

"Actually," Kyle said slowly, sharing a look with Sam, "that is _not _a half bad idea. We've already figured out where Dillons lives and her connections, but we need to know more about the middle men in her operation." He resumed pounding away, bright green eyes glinting off the screen's light. "You should go see that new Leonardo DiCaprio film at 5 in the mall, then take him around the shops and maybe somewhere to eat. If we don't see any movement we'll have you move him somewhere else."

I didn't usually feel angry; most of the time I was anxious, worried, or pumped with detached adrenaline. On rare days I felt a spark or two of happiness in the small things, like a well-made caramel macchiato, or a new book, or when I 'accidently' run into Craig and catch a smell of his shampoo or cologne.

But at this idea my eyebrows furrowed and lip curled up, my hands clenching into fists. "That's not fucking happening, Kyle."

His fingers paused and floated above the keys, an eyebrow raised at my unusual aggression. "…it would actually be helping him, Tweek."

"Helping him? We're already helping him, we don't need to fucking dress him up and put him on a platter for these sons of bitches!" I stood up and stepped over the scattered maps and miscellaneous school work of Sam's floor. "Forget I ever said anything. I'm going to get us lunch."

I stalked out the room and down her stairs, grabbing my jacket and cell phone. I heard hurried steps chase after me.

"Blondie, wait—" Sam practically leapt down a flight of stairs and landed with a flourish, dyed blue hair bobbing and hazel eyes imploring him to listen. "…let me drive you?"

I held my glare but nodded all the same, going out into her garage and getting into the passenger's seat. A moment later Sam got in the driver's seat and started it up, the garage door sliding open and we were off, cruising down the central of North Park.

A heavy silence filled the air. "Tweek—"

"_No_."

"Would you just listen?"

I growled and stared out the window.

"Look, this might actually be the quickest way to get Craig out of this. The sooner we draw these bastards out, the sooner Craig's out of hot water. You want that, don't you?"

I grunted.

"And it's not like we're sending him out there on his own. He'll have you, and you'll have me tailing you, and Kyle will be chewing my ear off every step of the way."

I chuckled and felt my anger reside back to the cavern it had snuck out of.

"Alright, fine. But don't think I'm still one hundred percent on board with this."

She snorted as we pulled into Taco Bell. "Please. I'm betting cash money that you'll have your hands down his pants by the end of the movie." Ignoring my stuttering she asked, "Do you want to borrow my car?"

I was stunned. "You'll give me the Bugatti?"

Sam handed the money to the cashier and gave him a disgusted look. "Um, _no? _I will _lend _you the Kia. Jesus, like I'm letting you and your boytoy near a supped-up sports with built in firearms and modifiers up the ass."

"So the Kia has none of that?"

"Hell yeah it does. Just not as much."

I laughed and carried the bags of burritos and tacos inside.

I tugged at the messy, obstinate locks of hair sticking up around my face and took in my image in the mirror. I had on my best-fitting army green tee with the V-neck under a heavier cream colored jacket. I was wearing my straight-legged jeans and a pair of Converse that Kyle had given me as a birthday present two years ago and never wore. Strapped to my chest under my shirt was my .33.

I held a bottle of styler in my hands and ran my thumb over the cool surface, remembering Sam's teasing grin as she threw at my ass on the way out the door. I had never used anything on my hair before, though nobody believes me when I say otherwise, especially when it's humid out.

I popped open the cap and squeezed a little onto my fingers, wrinkling my nose at the smell of perfumed chemical disaster and spreading it over my fingers.

I proceeded to none-too-gracefully spread it out over my hair, flicking my fingers at the end to achieve a spiked appearance.

_Oh, God, does this look weird?_

I jumped as a rapping sounded on the bathroom door.

"Tweek, what's the hold up? Let's go, already."

Craig chuckled at my squeak and I wrenched open the door, taking in the sight of Craig in a MCR shirt and leather jacket, usual blue hat covering his hair and black pants tucked into his boots.

It was unfair how sexy his casual look was.

Craig cracked a grin at my hair and I grabbed at it in a frenzy. He swatted my hands away. "What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?"

"_Urk, _I, I don't know, I just…"

I was getting ridiculously flustered at the whole situation. I was trying way too hard for a friendly night on the town, worrying about my clothes, my hair—Christ, I sounded like a girl about to go on her first date.

My heart bumped up to racehorse speeds when he threaded his long, cool fingers through my hair and over my scalp, moving in small circles. It started off as warm pulses coursing down my skull to calm, relaxing waves that soothed my nerves and steadied my heart rate.

At some point my eyes must have closed because a sudden flick to my nose sent them flying open to find him watching me like an owner watches his cat.

"There. Much better, if I do say so myself."

I looked into the mirror and saw my hair spiked evenly at the front bangs and along the sides. "Uh, th-thanks, Craig. I don't know shit about hair."

Craig hummed and led me to the living room. "Why are you doing shit to your hair, anyway?"

I shrugged and slipped my cellphone and keys into my pockets. "Just to…shake things up, I guess?"

"You're shaky enough, already."

I scowled. "So where did you want go, asshole?"

Craig scratched at his ear. "I dunno. Wherever."

"Um, there's that Chinese place we can eat at?"

Craig nodded. "Nice. I could go for some _shitty sushi._"

I followed him out and locked the door. "I-I like the _shitty chicken _better."

"You think that Chinese guy will ever fucking get the hint that he can't say the word 'city' or will we be able to make this joke well into our adulthoods?"

I pulled at a spike of hair. "I-I think he's well past understanding what's so funny about how he talks."

Craig agreed and raised an eyebrow at the Kia. "Since when do you have a car?"

"It's my parents' second car. They said I could use it."

Craig let out an unimpressed "Oh" and got in, sliding the chair back a few inches to make room for his ridiculously long legs. I started the car and backed out, maneuvering over the layer of ice that was almost always present on our roads this time of year.

We drove to the restaurant and ordered our food, muffling the laughter coming from our mouths as we made him repeat our orders over and over to make sure we had it right.

As we ate I noticed that I would occasionally catch him watching me, Craig quickly avoiding my eye none too gracefully. I swallowed my rice thickly and followed it with a drink of soda, wondering if I was imagining the heated looks he was throwing my way.

I decided to test it out.

I managed to maneuver another bunch of rice onto my chopsticks, bring it up to my mouth and succeeding in getting a few piece on my bottom lip. I swallowed the bit in my mouth and looked up at Craig, who returned it with a raised eyebrow. He tapped at his own bottom lip.

I blinked and licked across my lip.

Craig's hand froze for a split second and he stared, mouth pausing in its chewing motion. He quickly looked down and shoved too many noodles into his mouth, refusing to look at me.

Which was good, because I'm pretty sure I was grinning like an idiot.


End file.
